Seven
by MissPessimist
Summary: Grimmjow ponders Ulquiorra in the style of the seven deadly sins. Rated T for Grimmy's naughty little fantasy.


MP: Well, Lent has begun and its put me into a religiously conscious mood. I haven't written a Bleach fanfic yet, so I though I would take a whack at it and incorporate the seven deadly sins.

If I totally suck at writing this, please inform me of it so I can remind myself not to do it again, and or cut up my hands, grind them into a fine paste, and sell it to underprivileged kids on coke.

Cee: MissyPessimisty doesn't own Bleach, its characters, affiliates, or any references she may make in the course of this fic.

**This is in Grimmjow's POV**.

MP: So, heres my first Bleach fanfiction, hope you enjoy it. Story starts now.

X X X

**Sloth**

He has made me become lazy. I can't concentrate on my work, my fights, myself. He has encompassed my mind, taking over the expanse of my thought like a dreaded conquerer over virgin snow, trodding on it like it means nothing, like it is composed of the trash that he so often references.

When I see him, I lose my energy. It seems to go into him as he airily brushes past me, sparing barely a glance to me as I get a quick dose of his intoxicating smell.

He smelled like dirt. You would think he wouldn't, but he did. But the clean dirt, like the dirt that comes with potted plants, and not the...dirty dirt.

It suits him.

**Greed**

I'm greedy with him. I want all of his time, all of his glances, all of his small gentle touches, all of his harsh pounding hits, all of his exasperated sighs, all of his beautiful little sounds, and even his minuscule fleeting smiles.

Whenever I see someone touch him, speak to him, or even breath on him I feel the hot boiling rage rearing its head in the confines of my chest. Why should they get his looks? Why should they hear his voice? Why should they breath in his dirt smell?

They don't deserve him. They don't have him consume their thoughts like I do, they don't try to walk behind him just to feel his coattails flick their legs. They don't stand outside his door, imagining what he does inside, or simply trying to breath in the presence that shines from beneath the door.

They don't dream about him like I do.

**Gluttony**

I glutton over him. Every word he says to me, I drink in and keep drinking. Every look he gives me, however impassive and calculating, I soak up and squeeze, until it is dry and lifeless, floating around inside me.

His presence fills me, taking up all the space that I have to offer in my blood, my skin, my stomach, my heart. He makes me feel like a human, filling me with unwanted emotions and taking up every part of me that feels hollow. I want him to feel the same over me, just so I could have the pleasure of knowing I brought emotion to the pale mask of his face.

**Pride**

My pride won't let me say this to him. I feel weak. Of all the things I've done I can't tell him that I love his eyes, his skin, his smell, his voice...him.

I can't get past it. The things we've done to each other cloud my vision. The things we've said, the insults, the arguments, the cero's fired at one another, scathing looks, and days, weeks, months, years of silence at one another.

Even if I found the courage to say this to him, his pride would cloud his judgment just as mine does. He would stare at me in that impassive way of his, then if he was feeling especially merciful he would walk away from me and never look at me again.

And if he did that I couldn't go on. Yet another weakness he instilled within me. I can't live without his large emerald eyes, his luminous skin, his messy raven hair, and the glances I get of his alabaster neck. If he never looked at me again, I might die.

Its best if I keep it to myself.

**Lust**

I lust for him endlessly. Sometimes I think he knows it when he sees me staring at him from across the table, wetting my lips hungrily from time to time. And he lets me look. He lets me stare away at the soft black angles of his hair, the pale lines of his face, unmoving and stoic, the large dark swoops of his eyes, filled with dull lifeless emeralds.

When he walks I revel in the beautiful sway of his hips, the way his hands burrow inside the white of his uniform. The slim curves of his body entice me into following him wherever he is going, whether it be endless hallways away from my destination, or all the way outside before he turns to acknowledge my presence.

I dream of seeing his pale body, rid of his conservative uniform, writhing beneath me. I dream of the way he would moan my name, buck his hips against mine, run his slender fingers down my spine, and clench around me.

When I wake up, I look around for him, hoping that he sleeps beside me, letting moonlight grace his features.

**Envy**

I envy him. I envy his calmness, his resolve, his cool intelligence, his beauty. I envy the way he can take whatever anybody ever says to him, and send it right back sevenfold. I envy the way he can hold all of his power without either going crazy or making sure that no one ever forget it. I envy the way he can turn away from people without anger, without a grudging look on his face, without starting a fight.

I envy the way he walks past me. Standing tall, spine shooting up straight to the ceiling, eyes trained on the scene before him. He doesn't look down, he doesn't look sideways, he looks straight ahead, glaring his way into the horizon.

I envy the way he walks past me without feeling anything. The way he can walk briskly past me, his stance unchanging, his cool frown glued into place as he seems not to notice me.

I envy the way he doesn't notice me. If I had never noticed him, I wouldn't have felt this way. If I had never noticed him I wouldn't have endured the years of scorn and hate that radiate from his pores.

If I had never noticed him...I suppose I wouldn't be happy.

**Wrath**

Its because of all of these that I feel anger towards him.

Because he has made me lazy, he has made me greedy, he makes me glutton, he makes me prideful, he makes me lust after him, he makes me envious, and he is oblivious to the wrath he creates inside me.

I take it out on him. My frustration lashes out in biting words, my hurt flares up when I fight him, and the breaking of my heart rings out in the silence he leaves in his wake.

I feel the need to fight with him, just to get him to look at me.

I insult him to get him to say my name.

I follow him to drink in his silence.

My need for him increases every day. Every day the same routine passes by. His silence feeds my words, his looks blinding me.

He doesn't notice me.

I can't stand it, but maybe its better this way.

He doesn't love me, or even like me, but I'm consumed by him. If he felt the same for me, the tempest caused by us would eclipse anything we'd known before. I would never be able to leave him if that happened.

Maybe its better this way.

X X X

Thats about it.

Yes? No? Maybe? Lobster?

I appreciate reviews, but its not necessary.

Thanks for reading!


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